


Carpe Frenulum

by sabershadowkat



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 13:16:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4436867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabershadowkat/pseuds/sabershadowkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy returns from the dead... as a male.<br/>Post The Gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carpe Frenulum

Part One

 

Buffy Summers was falling.

At first, it was great. She felt like she was flying. The wind buffetted  
her body as she soared through the air. She wondered if birds felt the same  
rush she did for that brief time she was suspended in the air, two hundred  
feet above the ground.

Buffy's euphoria was short-lived, however, soon replaced by pain. She was  
no longer flying - she was falling. She had leapt from the tower and into  
the energy portal Dawn's blood had opened and Buffy's blood would close.  
The pain was excruciating. Magickal electricity ripped through the blond's  
body, tearing her apart molecule by molecule. She prayed for the end of the  
pain, prayed to hit the hard earth, prayed for death. And still she was  
falling.

The pain suddenly stopped. Then there was nothing. Then, she hit the  
ground.

Ouch.

Buffy laid still, more out of surprise than from the pain of connecting with  
the ground. She was alive, if her heavy breathing and pounding heart were  
any indiction. She also didn't feel very hurt. There was a sting radiating  
from her hands, knees, and cheek where it rested on the gritty ground.  
There was a different type of sting burning one side of her neck.

Keeping her eyes shut, Buffy listened for her sister or her friends, or  
fighting, or the end of the world.

She heard crickets.

Confused, she opened her eyes and saw she was indeed laying on the ground  
outside. An off-yellow light illuminated the area where she was sprawled  
from overhead. A couple inches from her nose she saw neatly edged grass.  
Even closer was a pair of gold-framed oval eyeglasses, with one of the stems  
bent.

Cautiously, Buffy moved, pushing herself to her knees. Nothing seemed to be  
broken. She touched the tender side of her neck as she looked around,  
squinting because everything more than a few feet away was blurry. "Dawn?"  
she called tentatively.

Blurry vision or not, she did not see her sister or any of her friends. She  
did not see Glory's brain- sucked pawns or scabby minions. She did not see  
the tower or construction site. What she did see looked an awful lot like  
one of the sidewalks on the UC Sunnydale campus. And a black-bearded human  
in a blinding purple suit.

"Everything would be clearer if you put on the glasses," the Purple Pieman  
addressed Buffy from where he stood in front of her.

"Are you talking to me?" Buffy said, on guard. Her voice sounded deeper  
than usual to her, but she chalked it up to the sting on her neck.

"Yes, Miss Summers," he replied. "I am indeed speaking to you."

Buffy narrowed her blurred eyes, hands forming fists, her body tensing to  
strike. "How do you know my name?"

"I know everything about you, Buffy Summers," the man walked over to a stone  
bench and took a seat, "including the fact that you are no longer Buffy  
Summers."

The man reached into his garish suit coat and Buffy rose quickly to her  
feet... and kept rising... and rising. "Woah," she breathed, teetering on  
her suddenly much longer legs. She towered over the man on the bench, who  
removed a hand-mirror from his breast pocket and extended it towards her.

"Miss Summers," the main said as Buffy cautiously took the mirror and looked  
at her reflection. "Welcome to your new 'normal' life."

Buffy gaped. Staring back at her in the mirror was not who stared back at  
her this morning. For one thing, her eyes were blue, not dark, dark brown.  
She also had longish blond hair - dyed, but blond - not short black George  
Clooney hair. She usually didn't sport a five o'clock shadow, either. The  
square jaw, thin nose, and thin white scarline on her tanned cheek, running  
from the corner of a slightly tilted eye almost to her right nostril, were  
very unfamiliar features. Most disconcerting was the fact that she was also  
a he.

"I'm a guy. Why am I a guy? What did you do to me?" Buffy growled at the  
man, clenching the mirror in her fist.

"Why, the Powers gave you your reward for exemplary service as the Chosen  
One." Purple Suit patted the bench beside him. "Sit down and I shall  
explain."

"Who are you?" Buffy asked, irritation and worry coloring her deep male -  
male! - voice.

"You may call me Ryan. I am an emissary for the Powers That Be, and I am  
here to explain your situation," Ryan said. Now that he was in focus, Buffy  
noted that he looked like a young Santa Claus, if Santa wore ugly purple  
suits with matching wingtips.

"So explain," Buffy said. "Start with why I'm on campus or wherever we are  
instead of at the construction site, and go from there."

"We are, indeed, on the UC Sunnydale campus," Ryan began. He crossed his  
legs and folded his hands over his knee. "Buffy Summers, the body and the  
Slayer parts, have been deceased for over a year-"

"Woah, woah, woah, hold your horses," Buffy interrupted. "Are you trying to  
tell me I'm dead?"

"Yes," Ryan replied. "You died jumping off the tower in place..."

Buffy turned him out, her eyes losing focus as her mind remembered what she  
thought had happened only a short time ago. She was falling... "I'm dead?"  
she repeated with a waver in her unfamiliar voice.

"Technically, yes," Ryan Said. "Your body is buried in Restfield Cemetery,  
next to your mother. However, your soul, if you will, has not died.  
Because you were a Slayer and forced on a daily basis to put yourself in  
peril on behalf of humanity and thus taking away your ability to lead a  
'normal' life, the Powers have allowed you, as they do every Slayer, the  
opportunity to have that 'normal' life by placing your soul in a recently  
deceased individual who meets certain specific criteria. Which is why it  
has taken over a year to find you a body."

"Criteria?" Buffy said faintly.

"The Powers are very strict about choosing a suitable body," Ryan told her.  
"First, as I said, the person has to be recently deceased. Still warm, as  
the saying goes."

Buffy looked down at her new hands and turned a bit green.

"Secondly, the chosen body must have very little earthly connections. The  
person you have become, Brett Anderson, has no living relatives, moved here  
on full scholarship from Maine, and is what you would term a 'loner,' with  
no real friends on campus because he spends almost all his free time  
studying in order to keep his scholarship."

"So, I'm a nerd?" Buffy raised the hand-mirror and looked at her reflection,  
ignoring the way it shook. "I'm pretty cute for a nerd. Didn't, uh, didn't  
Brett have a girlfriend?"

Ryan shook his head. "No time for one, and Brett was on the shy side."

"Okay, let me see if I understand," Buffy said. "Buffy is dead. Buffy is  
now Brett. Brett is a cute nerd who is just an ordinary guy who goes to  
UCSun on scholarship, with no one in Maine who would know Brett is no longer  
Brett but Buffy in a Brett suit."

"That... adequately covers it," Ryan said with a bit of amusement.

"And I have no superpowers?" Buffy continued questioning, looking at her  
reflection again, the hand holding the mirror less shaky. "I don't have to  
fight evil, make impossible decisions, or sacrifice myself for the greater  
good?"

"Correct," Ryan said. "You are a normal human being with no responsibility  
to anyone other than yourself."

"Then why do I feel like Brett should be the one still living in his body,  
and not me?"

Ryan patted her leg. "You did not cause Brett's death, my dear, nor did the  
Powers cause it in order to give you a body. Brett simply died by vampire  
bite, as people tend to in Sunnydale."

"So in a way I did cause Brett's death, because I'm the Vampire Slayer and I  
wasn't around to stop the vampire from killing him," Buffy said flatly,  
touching the stinging part of her neck. Vampire bite, she should have  
recognized the feeling.

Ryan was flummoxed. "I suppose... But aren't you happy to be alive?"

"At the cost of someone else's life? No," Buffy said unhesitantly.  
"Besides, I'm no longer Buffy. According to you and the mirror, I'm Brett,  
which means those that I love and would live for don't even know me. If  
what you say is true and I've been dead more than a year, Dawn and my  
friends have undoubtably grieved and moved on with their lives. I won't  
hurt them by coming back in someone else's body." Buffy stood and handed  
Ryan the small mirror. "Return me to wherever I've been for the past year,  
put Brett back into his body, and tell the Powers to stop playing God."

"Er..." Ryan arched his black bushy brow at her last statement, then shook  
his head. "Never mind. As to your wishes, I am afraid I can only partially  
grant them. You have a choice: if after thirty days you wish to no longer  
stay living, the Powers shall release your soul. Brett's soul, I am afraid  
to say, has already been released and cannot return. If you are not  
inhabiting his body, Brett will truly be deceased."

Buffy stared at Ryan a minute, then dropped her chin and looked at her new  
big feet. He was being straight with her, she could tell. Brett Anderson  
was dead no matter what. Buffy Summers had the opportunity to live.

She shoved her hands in her pockets, took deep breath, and let it out  
slowly. "Is there anything else I need to know if I'm going to be Brett?"

Ryan smiled gently. "Only that it is up to you, Buffy, if you are in  
contact with your family and friends. You are still Buffy on the inside,  
with all of Buffy's memories, thoughts, and desires. You simply have  
another body that comes with a few strings, like a heavy school course load  
and no viable source of income. Physically, you're fit as a fiddle, have no  
known allergies or diseases, and your only limitation is that you require  
glasses."

"You forgot to mention the fact that I now have a *penis*," Buffy said  
dryly. She heard giggling behind her, glanced over her shoulder, and saw  
two female students crossing the path. Her face heated up and she quickly  
turned her eyes to the ground in front of her.

"There is that, but Brett was the first available body that met the Powers'  
criteria," Ryan said, rising from the bench. "Are there any further  
questions?"

Buffy thought for a second, then shook her head. "None that I know of."

"Very well, then." Ryan extended his hand. "I will return in thirty days  
to see if you would like to stay as Brett Anderson. Until then, I wish you  
well in your new 'normal' life. Your dorm is Hendrix Hall, room 305. I  
would recommend you go there now. This is Sunnydale. There are all sorts  
of nasty creatures out at night who'd be happy to eat a 'normal' human such  
as yourself."

With that warning, Ryan released Buffy's hand, turned, and walked away.  
Buffy didn't move until the blurry purple beacon disappeared from sight.  
"Very strange," she murmured, retrieving the glasses from the ground. She  
straightened the earpiece as best she could and put them on. The world  
snapped into focus and she sighed, "Much better."

Picking up the dark blue backpack on the grass, which she assumed was  
Brett's since there was no one else around, Buffy put it over her shoulder  
and struck off for Hendrix Hall. She kept an ear out for danger as warned  
and reminded herself to carry a stake and a few other anti-vampire  
implements on her. Normal human or not, she still could protect herself  
from vampires that roamed the campus after dark.

The digital watch on her wrist told her it was barely past ten o'clock p.m.  
as she climbed the stairs to the third floor of the dorm. It was early  
enough to call and check on Dawn. Buffy really wanted to go and see her  
sister in person, but distance, lack of car, and lack of superpowers put a  
kibosh on that desire. She'd have to settle for a phone call until morning.

Buffy found room 305, found the key in her pocket, and found that Brett  
Anderson was most definitely a nerd. The single dorm room was neat as a  
pin, bed made, shoes lined by the door on a mat. Instead of posters of  
girls or bands on the walls, there was a poster of a castle from Batavia,  
Germany, above the desk and a schematic to a space ship on the wall beside  
the bed. The college- provided bookshelf was full, all book spines facing  
out. On the desk, the laptop was closed, the pencils in a caddy, and a  
transparent-sheilded course schedule was taped to the desk.

Buffy hooked the backpack on the wooden desk chair and checked Brett's  
closet. Clothes hung neatly or were folded nicely on the top shelf, which  
she could easily see, and laundry was in the laundry bag on the closet  
floor. On the small dresser with a mirror above it sat a shave kit with guy  
bath things in it. An extra pair of glasses resided in a hard plastic case  
beside the kit. The drawers below held folded boxers, briefs, and paired  
white socks.

Buffy rolled her eyes, shut the drawer, and caught her reflection in the  
mirror. Who was once Brett Anderson looked back at her through gold-frame  
oval glasses. She stared at herself for a very long time as the reality of  
her situation fully sunk into her brain.

She was no longer Buffy Summers, the Chosen One. She was no longer female.  
She was Brett Anderson's new soul. And she was really cute. For a nerd.

Shaking her head, she continued snooping until she found a roll of quarters  
in one of the drawers, and went into the hall to use the payphone. Dawn  
picked up on the second ring, laughing at something someone was yelling in  
the background.

"Summers, Rosenberg, and McCray residence. You have Dawn."

Buffy closed her eyes, slumped against the phone caddy, and hung up the  
receiver. Thank goodness. Dawn was okay. Her sister was safe and sounded  
fine. And it also sounded as if Willow and Tara were taking care of her.  
Buffy would have to see how well tomorrow.

 

 

Part Two

 

 

 

Buffy knew about boys and their boy parts. She knew how to touch them, what  
caused a gasp, and what caused a groan. She'd heard the complaints, seen  
the reactions, and watched in fascination as the boy part spurted come.  
None of this prepared her to feel it in the first person.

Buffy awoke early Friday morning after a night of learning about Brett  
Anderson from the things in his... *her* dorm room. From his driver's  
license, she learned he was twenty years old, six-three, 190 pounds, and  
that his birthday was February 22nd. She learned his schedule - no Friday  
classes, thank goodness - because it was taped to the desk, learned he took  
meticulous notes from the binders in his backpack, and learned that he  
attended the last summer session and received straight- B's from the report  
card tacked to the bulletin board. She also learned that he was a Junior at  
UCSunn, majoring in Criminology and Statistics with a minor in Math. Math,  
eew.

In a lockbox in the closet, she found a passport with no travel stamps in  
it, insurance papers, bank account information, and a single picture of  
Brett and two people who had to be his parents. There was also an obituary  
clipping from a Maine newspaper about his parents' deaths in a car accident.  
It was funny, in a non-ha-ha way, that she learned more about who Brett was  
by his parents' obituary than by anything else in the dorm room.

When Buffy was finished going through Brett's... *her* things, she  
rearranged the room more to her liking. She made it look a little more  
lived in. Then she'd gone to wash up in the communal boy's bathroom, which  
had made her giggle hysterically for a long time afterwards. Especially the  
part where she relieved herself while standing at a urinal. Buffy's  
Adventures in Peeing. She hadn't been brave enough to really look at her  
new male anatomy, though. She figured she'd had enough excitement for one  
night.

The alarm went off at seven o'clock a.m. in order for Buffy to see Dawn  
before her sister left for school. Buffy's hand slapped at everything  
within reach until the annoying beeping stopped. She stretched while trying  
to get her eyes to open. The sheet shifted. That's when she realized she  
had grown another limb in the middle of her body.

Her eyes were definitely open now. She lifted the sheet covering her and  
looked under it. The boxers she'd thrown on to sleep in had the standard  
split in the front, and sticking straight up out of that split was...

Buffy squeaked and clutched the covers to her flat chest. She saw the sheet  
was tented at waist-level, and she squeaked again and squeezed her eyes  
shut. She had hoped that Ryan and the idea that she was a guy had been a  
dream, and that she was at home on Revello Drive in her own bed, with her  
sister down the hall.

It wasn't a dream. She was a guy. And she had an erection.

Buffy cracked open an eye, lifted the sheet, and peered beneath it again.  
Looming from between the patterned edges of the boxers was a penis of  
massive proportions. It was huge. It was hard. It was attached to her.

She squeaked again and pulled the covers to her chin. The soft sheet rubbed  
against her maleness. She sucked in a sharp breath. A hint of pain, a lot  
of pressure, and unbelievable pleasure skittered down her new anatomy. She  
tugged lightly on the sheet again and the intense feelings repeated. She  
whimpered.

Buffy recognized the pressure-feeling: it meant she had to use the bathroom.  
The other two, though... holy cow. Was *this* what it was like to be a guy  
and be horny? It felt wildly different than being aroused as a girl. She  
had an almost uncontrollable urge to rub herself against something. If her  
hands weren't ripping at the sheet, they'd be undoubtably beneath the  
covers.

She wasn't ready for this. She had been a male for less than twelve hours  
and, up until now, she'd hoped it was all a dream, or a Glory-induced  
hallucination. She wasn't ready to deal with an erection. She didn't think  
she could handle it. "Bad choice of words," she whimpered, squeezing her  
eyes shut again.

She tried to will the erection away, but with every minute that passed  
increased her need to use the bathroom. Eventually, she could wait no more,  
not if she didn't want to wet the mattress. She jumped out of bed and  
gasped when her penis bounced freely. She looked down and meeped. She had  
a penis! A *penis*!

A bubble of hysterical laughter exploded from her throat as Monty Python's  
"Penis Song" floated through her brain. ~'Isn't it awfully nice to have a  
penis, isn't it frightfully good to have a dong?'~

Buffy didn't want to touch it, but she didn't want to see it anymore. She  
also couldn't go anywhere with it sticking out like a fleshy bludgeon. And  
she really had to pee.

"Okay, Buffy, you can do this." Her sleep roughened male voice surprised  
her, and she jumped again. And her dick jumped again. She had a dick.  
Aack!

Taking the bull by the horns - or the penis by the shaft - Buffy choked and  
sputtered as she yanked the hard member through the split and back into her  
boxers. If she thought about it rationally, her penis wasn't that big. In  
fact, it was fairly normal-sized. But how could she think rationally with.  
Her. *Cock.* In. Her. Hands? And touching it had been a bad thing to  
do. Very bad. Because now she *really* wanted to rub against something.  
Really, really, really wanted to.

Robe. Pee. Throw self out of window. Buffy ticked off her mental list as  
she put on the hunter green terrycloth robe that was hanging on the back of  
the door. After a quick blurry look up and down the hall to see if the  
coast was clear, she bolted from her dorm room to the bathroom and locked  
herself in an unoccupied stall.

She had to touch the thing in her shorts again in order to relieve herself.  
Bracing herself, she bit her lower lip as she shoved down her boxers,  
choking back a squeal as her new part bounced free. Trying not to be a  
complete wuss, she grabbed, aimed, and peed.

Her panic must have dribbled out along with her urine, because she was able  
to think more clearly as she washed her hands. Looking at herself in the  
large mirror above the multiple sinks, she made a face and Brett's  
reflection mimed her. She stuck out her tongue. She crossed her eyes.  
Brett did the same. She sighed, finally, and admitted fully that this was  
not a dream.

"Hello, Brett," she said to her reflection. "I'm Buffy. I guess we're one  
in the same now, huh? Su body is mi body, su penis is mi penis."

Snickering, she shut off the water, dried her hands, and returned to her  
room. She was still hard beneath her boxers, which was uncomfortable and  
made it difficult to walk. How did guys manage to do anything with this  
thing in their shorts?

Buffy knew she had a choice to make: ignore Mr. Please-touch-rub-fondle-me  
Erection and hope it went away, or give in to what it wanted. Her faced  
heated as anticipation coiled in her at the thought of the second choice.  
Guess that answered that question.

Once in the room, she checked the clock. She had at least 45 minutes before  
she had to leave. Plenty of time to take a shower and... explore. In her  
boxers, her stiffy leapt under its own power.

Wigged, but determined, Buffy grabbed the shave kit and a towel, slid on her  
shower shoes, and headed back to the bathroom.

*****

Brett Anderson didn't have too bad of taste when it came to clothes, for a  
nerd. He seemed to favor jeans and t-shirts, both long and short sleeved,  
with logos blazed on the front or back. Brett looked very good in jeans the  
slightly tight t-shirts. He looked very good out of the clothing, too.

In the shower and afterwards in front of the mirror in the dorm room, Buffy  
did naughty and not-so-naughty things to her new body. She was a full foot  
taller she used to be, which gave her a whole different perspective of the  
world. She was thin still, but not skinny. Lanky would have been her  
mother's label. Buffy had a lean musculature, a smattering of dark body  
hair, and naturally tanned skin. White scars peppered her body, ones she  
identified from experience as old fighting injuries. By the scars on her  
knuckles, she knew Brett hadn't been just a punching nerd in high school.  
All in all, Brett Anderson wasn't a bad choice of body for Buffy Summers's  
soul to occupy.

Battered gym shoes on her feet and glasses in place, Buffy left the dorm and  
started the trek to town. She couldn't wait to see Dawn. For her sister,  
it had been a year plus since she'd last seen Buffy. But for Buffy, it was  
last night, and the world had been on the brink of disaster. Buffy needed  
to reassure herself that the voice on the phone had really been Dawn and  
that she was okay.

Buffy also wondered about her friends. Willow and Tara apparently lived  
with Dawn, so they must be all right. Giles, Spike, Xander and Anya,  
though, she had no clue about. She hoped they were okay, too.

Buffy's step faltered when she realized she included Spike in her list of  
friends... and didn't find it strange. Spike had proved himself to her, had  
earned her trust during those last few weeks while fighting Glory. She  
wanted to throttle him a majority of the time, but he was always there for  
her, even if it was to point out flaws. She probably shouldn't tell him,  
though, so he wouldn't think her friendship was a stepping stone to love.

Buffy stopped walking abruptly. She wouldn't be telling Spike anything, or  
telling any of her other friends anything, either. She was no longer Buffy,  
she was Brett, with a normal life stretched out before her. A life where  
she could do anything she wanted without worrying about the rest of the  
population. A life that didn't include her friends unless she told them she  
was resurrected from the dead and, hey, check out her penis!

Buffy continued schlepping down the street, her shoulders slumped. She  
hadn't lied to Ryan when she said she didn't want to hurt her sister or her  
friends. The date on her watch and neatly crossed off calendar informed her  
it really had been over a year since she took a swan dive from the Glory-  
constructed tower. It wouldn't be fair to Dawn or the others to return from  
the dead after the amount of time that had passed. Buffy may have no choice  
but to cut ties with them once she saw that they were okay.

"C'mon, guys, we're going to be late." Willow's familiar voice drifted  
across the cut lawn of 1630 Revello Drive, and Buffy stopped at the edge of  
the property and watched as the redhead dug through a knit handbag as she  
headed for the yellow S.U.V. in the driveway.

She looked the same, Buffy noted happily. Bright shoulder-length red hair,  
bright flowered skirt and non-matching sweater. Willow looked great.

Tara came out of the house, still ash-blond and with a shy-person's posture,  
dressed in black and carrying a backpack over her shoulder. Dawn was right  
behind her, and pulled the front door shut before they headed for the car.

"Dawn," Buffy whispered, tears misting her vision. Her sister had grown  
since Buffy last saw her. The tall, willowy brunette was a breathtaking  
almost-17-year-old beauty. Pride and sadness filled Buffy's heart. She'd  
missed Dawn's blossoming into womanhood.

The three spotted Buffy standing there and looked her way with curiosity.  
After a brief moment, Dawn headed for her. Buffy dropped her chin, shoved  
her hands in her pockets, and started walking away.

"Hey, wait," Dawn called to her. "Can I help you with something?"

Buffy stopped and turned to Dawn, who was almost as tall as she was now, as  
Brett. Buffy wanted to grab her sister and hug her tight. Instead, Buffy  
clenched her fists in her pockets, and said, "I, um, thought I recognized  
the other two from the university."

"Willow and Tara?" Dawn said, tilting her head slightly in a way that was  
very familiar to Buffy, but not an action she normally saw... used to see  
Dawn do. "Yeah, they go to UC Sunnydale. Want me to call them over?"

"Er..."

"Hey, guys, come here," Dawn called to Willow and Tara without waiting for a  
reply from Buffy. The witches came over and smiled tentatively at Buffy.  
"This guy says he recognizes you from school."

Dawn must've been taking blunt lessons from Anya, Buffy decided. She looked  
down at Willow and Tara. Had they always been so short? "Uh, hi."

"Hi back," Willow said, squinting up at him. "You do look familiar.  
Professor Lisenko's Stats class, right? I'm sorry, but I don't remember  
your name."

"Brett," Buffy said, taking the plunge into her new life. She extracted her  
hand and extended it to Willow. "I'm Brett."

"Willow," Willow said, returning the handshake. "This is my girlfriend,  
Tara. And you already met Dawn."

"Yeah." Buffy was unable to help flashing a tender smile at her sister.  
"We kind of met."

Willow frowned a mommy-frown. "That's good. Did you, uh, need a lift back  
to campus?"

"Sure," Buffy said with a shrug. "If you don't mind, that is."

"It's no problem," Willow replied.

They all climbed into the S.U.V., Buffy in back with Dawn. The car ride was  
silent for awhile, then Dawn turned to Buffy and began questioning her.  
"So, what's your major?"

"Criminology and Statistics," Buffy replied, reminding herself that she was  
Brett Anderson, not Buffy Summers.

"Sounds neat," Dawn said.

"It's... interesting." Which it would be, considering Buffy had been taking  
her basic classes when she'd dropped out Sophomore year, and Brett was a  
Junior. She should probably spend the weekend playing catch-up with the  
class material. It wouldn't be good to flunk out, since the university was  
apparently her only home.

Willow arrived at the high school, and Dawn said goodbye and hopped out of  
the vehicle. Buffy watched her sister disappeared into the building, then  
faced front. She caught Willow staring at her in the rearview mirror.  
"Cute kid," Buffy said, emphasizing the 'kid' so Willow wouldn't think she  
was macking on her sister.

"Yes. She is a cute under-18-year-old kid," Willow agreed with a pointed  
look.

Buffy hid her grin at Willow's response. She was quite happy with the  
redhead's protectiveness of Dawn, and the three of them seemed to be doing  
fine. Buffy wanted to ask about Anya, Xander, Giles, and Spike, but she  
didn't know how to go about it without arousing suspicion. She'd just have  
to go by the Magic Box later, after it opened. Perhaps stop by the  
cemetery, as well.

They arrived on campus a mere five minutes after dropping off Dawn; it was  
amazing how small Sunnydale was when one had a car. "Well, thanks for the  
ride," Buffy said as she climbed out of the vehicle. "I guess I'll see you  
around."

"Bye," Willow said. Tara smiled shyly.

Buffy nodded to them both, stuck her hands in her pockets - which was  
turning into a habit - and ambled off in the direction of the dorms.

 

Part Three

 

 

 

It was extremely easy for Buffy to catch up with the material in Brett's  
Criminology classes. Brett's notes were so organized and easy to understand  
she was able to comprehend what had been covered thus far in class. After  
reading thoroughly through the notes, Buffy spent the rest of the morning  
working on one of the class assignments. Math she ignored. Same with her  
Stats class material. Why should she work on either today when she could  
put them off indefinitely?

Meals were included in Brett's full scholarship, and Buffy made use of the  
cafeteria for lunch, sitting alone, before heading into town for the second  
time that day. She was going to have to get a bicycle or something.  
Walking everywhere wasn't much fun when it made her tired.

The bell over the door jingled as Buffy entered the Magic Box. She inhaled  
deeply, the spicy incense in the air tickling her nose. Unobtrusive  
lighting brightened the shop, making it feel welcoming. Making it feel like  
home.

Buffy walked further into the shop, casting a mindful eye over everything.  
The books, the objects d'arte, the new age junk and true magick supplies was  
the same, save for a few display trinkets on the register counter. Anya was  
behind the counter, red-blond hair pulled up in a feisty knot, a generic  
smile on her familiar face.

"Welcome to the Magic Box, how may I meet your magick needs?" Anya greeted,  
obviously by rote.

Buffy approached the counter. "Uh...," think, think, think, "...holy water.  
I'm in need of some holy water. Do you sell it?"

Anya's eyes flicked on the bandage Buffy had taped over the vampire bite  
wound after showering that morning. She nodded and reached under the  
counter. "Yes, we sell holy water. We also sell crosses, garlic sachets

 

and other protective objects. Stakes are free, and are in the basket by the  
door."

Buffy blinked behind her specs as Anya thrust a cream-colored pamphlet at  
her. Tri-folded, the pamphlet's front page proclaimed it full of  
information on the dangers of Sunnydale. It was complete with illustrations  
and survival guide.

"This is wild," Buffy said, skimming through the information. "Did you come  
up with this?"

"No, my husband of four months, three days, and...," Anya looked at a slim  
gold watch on her wrist, the gold engagement ring and wedding band Buffy  
hadn't seen until now glinting in the overhead light, "...two hours thought  
of it. The proprietor of the shop provided the etchings, without anyone  
having to have sex with him."

"You're married?" Buffy smiled, feeling both happy-squishy and sad inside.  
Another life-changing event she had missed.

Anya beamed. "I most certainly am, which means flirting with me, while  
appreciated, would be a waste of time."

"I wasn't..." Buffy left the sentence unfinished and changed course. "What  
kind of dress did you wear?"

"Alejandro, Modern Classic," Anya stated with pride as she reached under the  
counter again. "I have many pictures." She plopped a very thick photo  
album onto the counter.

Anya had made a beautiful bride, and Buffy was impressed when she saw Xander  
in his tuxedo, looking happier than she'd every seen him. Buffy  
surreptitiously asked pointed questions about her extended family in the  
photographs. She learned that Giles had returned to England and Cordelia,  
who had driven up from L.A., was still working with Angel and had been seen  
in many non- speaking roles in television commercials. In a group shot of a  
conga-line, Buffy spotted Spike in the background, wearing his familiar  
black jeans, black tee, and trench, talking to Dawn. As it was the only  
picture in the entire album with Spike in it, Buffy was unable to ask about  
him without seeming suspicious. At least she knew that four months, three  
days, and three hours ago he'd been okay.

The last photo in the album was a Scooby Gang group shot, Anya and Xander in  
the center with Giles and Dawn on one side of them and Willow and Tara on  
the other. Buffy was barely able to hold back her tears. She had to leave  
before she embarrassed herself, crying over a photo that Brett shouldn't  
care about at all.

Buffy did the old "look at the time" trick, bought some holy water, said  
congratulations again to Anya, and hurriedly left the shop.

Back on campus, behind the safety of her locked door, Buffy gave her  
tears. She had been dead. *Dead.* Deceased. She had kicked the bucket,  
croaked, perished, ceased to be alive, was a casualty of war, a fatality,  
one of the dearly departed. She had *died*... and life had gone on without  
her.

Sobs wracked her new masculine form. She curled up as much as she could on  
the bed, her legs pulled to her too-flat chest. Dawn had grown  
up  
without any help from Buffy. Xander and Anya had joined their lives without  
Buffy having to wear a puke-green bridesmaid dress like Tara and Dawn or  
a tuxedo like Willow. Buffy hadn't been able to subtly ask Cordelia  
about Angel. She hadn't gotten to say goodbye to Giles, or tell him thanks  
or that she loved him more than her own father, before he moved back to  
England.

And those were the big things. She'd also missed all the little stuff,  
like Dawn's birthday, Christmas, and her own twenty-first birthday. She'd missed  
having to find a job to pay the bills. She'd missed arguing with Dawn over  
chores and healthy meals. She'd missed arguing with Spike about everything  
else. She'd missed an entire television season.

Buffy didn't want to be dead anymore. She wanted to take her sister  
shopping at the mall. She wanted a cute boy to ask her on a date. She  
wanted a cute boy to ask Dawn on a date and allow Buffy to play mom. She  
wanted to share a  
mocha with her friends. She wanted to listen to Giles lecture. She wanted  
to punch Spike in the nose. She wanted to slay vampires.

Buffy couldn't have what she wanted, however, except the not-being-dead  
part. She was Brett now, with a normal, destiny-free life ahead of her.  
There would be much weirdness if she told her friends who she was and would  
cause too  
much pain if they lost her again. This *was* Sunnydale, population:  
varying. Buffy didn't plan to becomes vampire chow, but that didn't mean  
she wouldn't fall victim, especially because she had to walk everywhere.

Eventually she ran out of tears and her sniffs were loud in the post-sobbing  
silence. Sucking in a ragged breath, Buffy came to a decision: When Ryan  
came back, she'd tell him to release her soul. Buffy Summers was dead and  
she should stay that way.

Feeling like crap yet relieved by her choice, Buffy went to the bathroom to  
splash cold water on her face. Thirty days was all she had to wait. As a  
memoriam to Brett she'd keep up his schoolwork, since that had seemed  
important to him. She'd also try and see her sister and friends, storing up  
memories without hurting them by revealing who she was. She'd keep some  
distance between them, though, so when she died a second time they wouldn't  
grieve too hard.

Slipping her glasses on, she made a face at herself in the mirror, then  
blushed when someone entered the bathroom and gave her a funny look. She  
ducked her head and hurried back to the safety of her dorm room. She had to  
remember, for the next thirty days, she was a guy, and guys did not do  
things like make faces in the communal bathroom mirror.

Buffy looked at the alarm clock after re-locking the dorm room door behind  
her. She had a few hours until dinner and a second Criminology class she  
could prepare for. After dinner, she decided, she'd go to the Bronze. It  
was a Friday night, so her sister was bound to be there.

Satisfied with the plan in her head, Buffy retrieved her textbook and notes.  
She looked on the bright side as she settled on the bed: she would only have  
thirty days of homework to do.

*****

"Hey, Anderson." Buffy looked up from trying to identify her food and saw a  
good-looking shaggy- haired brunette with a tray standing beside her  
table. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.

"Be my guest," Buffy replied, trying not to panic in her quest not to be  
rude and yell, "NO!" It was obvious the guy knew Brett, but she was now  
Brett and she had no idea who the other student was. Ack.

"S'up, man," a skinny goth said, pausing at the head of the table soon after  
Buffy-Brett's friend sat down. "You coming to Cathy's party?"

"I'll be there," replied the brunette.

"Cool. Later, Mick." Gothboy wandered away after conveniently informing  
Buffy of her dinner companion's name.

"So, uh, Mick," Buffy began, and was relieved when the cute boy across from  
her looked her way. She gestured with her fork at their dinner. "Any clue  
what we're eating? I haven't been able to figure out whether it's meatloaf  
or tuna."

Mick grinned. "According to the serving lady, it's chicken."

Buffy blinked slowly behind her glasses, looked down at her plate, and  
turned slightly green. She dropped her fork and pushed her tray away. "I  
think I have an orange in my room."

"The trick is to eat it with applesauce," Mick informed her, dunking a fork  
full of chicken into the applesauce on his plate. "It hides the taste of  
everything." He stuck the fork in his mouth.

"I'll try it next time," Buffy lied. She watched as Mick wolfed down the  
food. Her horror must've shown on her face, because Mick grinned again.

"It's not that bad," he said.

"Uh-huh."

Mick laughed, and Buffy... found herself attracted to him. Her 'cute boy,  
must flirt' switch had been flipped. It was nice to know she hadn't changed  
too much.

Oh, crap.

Things *had* changed. Buffy was a boy, not a girl. Mick was a boy. She  
shouldn't be flirting with him. She shouldn't be attracted to him... should  
she? It wasn't that being gay was bad, but she was as straight as a ruler.  
At least she had been, when she still had boobs. What did that make her now  
that she had a penis, which was currently dancing the lambada in her jeans?  
She was still a she, wasn't she, only in the body of a he? And was that a  
Lorax in the tree? 

 

Aside from the mind-boggling conundrum she'd just discovered, it also wasn't  
fair that the usual low-down tingle Buffy felt when faced with an attractive  
male had manifested itself into a visible physical reaction on her male  
body. Why couldn't she have jumped from the tower and have the Powers  
reward her by allowing her to land on her feet?

Mick did not notice Buffy's discomfort, thankfully. He ate and babbled on  
about a class they were in together. Math, apparently. Again, eew.

"I'm having trouble with the assignment, too," Buffy ventured into the  
conversation.

"Which part?" Mick inquired, sipping his soda.

"The part with the numbers," she joked... kind of. What sane person took  
math when it wasn't required to graduate? Of course, if all the boys in the  
Math class were as cute as Mick, it might not be so bad.

Wait, what was she thinking?

The creature in her pants stirred again, and proved that guys truly did  
think with their dicks. 'Cause, *math*??

"We should get together Sunday and work on it," Mick suggested.

"Sure," Buffy's dick agreed before Buffy's brain could stop it.

"I'll meet you here at dinner, then, on Sunday, and we'll decide where to  
study," Mick said, collecting his tray as he stood. "See ya, Anderson."

"Yeah. Bye. See you." Buffy waited until Mick's lanky form had vanished  
from sight before dropping her head in her hands and groaning. What had she  
gotten herself into?

 

*****

Carpe Frenulum

 

by Saber ShadowKitten

 

 

Part Four 

 

The Bronze was teeming with high school and college-aged students dancing and chatting to each other over the rock band on stage. It was crowded at the club, which was normal for a Friday night. Buffy was lucky to snag a table for herself by the steps leading to the loft-area, and the table beside her was still empty. 

Sipping her Diet Coke -- not that she needed to watch her hips any longer -- Buffy alternated between watching Dawn laugh and dance with her friends, watching Xander watch Dawn while he played billiards, and flirting with the guy over by the flyer-plastered support column, never mind the fact that he thought he was flirting with another he and not a she in he-form. 

Buffy had given up on the "Am I gay or not?" internal debate. She was only going to be in a male body for a month so it really didn't matter. It wasn't as if she was planning to get close enough to another person, male or female, where there would be touching in a more-than-friendly manner. Besides, flirting was harmless fun, and the guy was really cute. 

The guy smiled. Buffy smiled back and was about to point to the empty chair opposite her in invitation when she was startled by close-sounding, very familiar voices. She turned quickly, and saw Xander push Spike into a chair at the table next to hers. Her eyes landed immediately on Spike's face. A large portion of it was coated with dried blood, having come from a wicked-looking cut running horizontally from one ear, across his cheeks and nose, and ending at his other ear. But other than that, he looked exactly as Buffy remembered, including the oh-so-daring black-on-black clothing ensemble. 

"If I don't pretend to care about you, who will?" Xander was saying, a frown etched between his brows. He soaked a napkin with beer from the bottle he'd been drinking, grabbed Spike by the chin, and began wiping at the dried blood. 

Spike hissed, but didn't flinch. "I don't think using beer is quite sanitary, Harris." 

"I highly doubt you'll die from an infection," Xander murmured. 

Dawn appeared suddenly, squeezing behind Buffy's chair to reach Xander and Spike. "Hey, precious," she greeted, ruffling Spike's bleach-blond hair. 

"Hello, pet," Spike returned with an extremely fond smile. The cut, where it crossed his nose, began to bleed. 

Dawn whistled faintly. "Nasty cut. What happened?" 

"Bugger had a whip-tail," he replied. He tilted his face up as Xander continued to clean him off. "Wasn't expecting that." 

"Hmm." Dawn dug into her purse and removed a Ziplock bag filled with first aid supplies. "I take it tailboy is dead?" 

"Him and all his friends," Spike confirmed as Xander finished. 

"All clean," Xander said, exchanging places with Dawn. 

Dawn peeled the backing from a band-aid and stuck it diagonally across Spike's nose where he was still bleeding. On the band-aid, Garfield's 'brother' Odie frolicked on a field of bright blue. 

Buffy couldn't help it. She giggled. She so had to stop doing that. Real men didn't giggle. Nor did they wear purple or eat quiche. It was in the unwritten man rules that she suspected Riley made up to get out of eating her cooking. 

Her manly chuckle must've been kind of loud, because Dawn, Spike, and Xander all looked in her direction. Way to keep unobtrusive, she thought. She could feel her ears heat up at having been caught. 

"I know you, right?" Dawn was the first to address Buffy. "You're Brett." 

"And you're Dawn," Buffy said, unable to help her smile when both Xander and Spike frowned the same as Willow had earlier that day. "Hi, again." 

"Pet, are you going to introduce us?" Spike asked in an unfriendly tone. 

"Yeah, um, Xander, Spike, this is Brett. He's in one of Willow's classes," Dawn said. "We gave him a ride this morning." 

"Car break down?" Xander said suspiciously. 

Buffy was happy to see Xander's protectiveness of her sister, but now she had to come up with a plausible lie. She decided to stick with what she'd told Dawn that morning. "I was out for a walk, just enjoying the sun," Buffy said, brushing her fingers purposely over the bandage on her neck. 

The wariness reflected on Xander's features became understanding. "I know how that goes," he said. "You should stop by The Magic Box and pick up a pamphlet on Sunnydale's 'nightlife.' It'll answer the questions you probably have." 

Buffy made a quick decision. "I was there earlier today," she said. "You looked great in your bridesmaid's dress, by the way, Dawn. The color complemented your skin tone and the cut was perfect for you." 

"Sounds like Anya's been showing the wedding pictures again," Dawn said, beaming with the compliment. 

Buffy smiled tenderly at Dawn. "All 682 of them." She shifted her gaze to Xander and lied some more. "And now I know why you looked familiar. I would've recognized you easier if you were wearing that sharp tux." 

It was Xander's turn to beam. "It was pretty sharp." Spike, who'd been quiet until now, snorted derisively. Xander casually smacked the peroxide blond upside the head. "Shut up, bleach-for-brains." 

Dawn waved to someone and gathered her purse. "My friends beckon," she said. "Great seeing you again, Brett. Later, everyone." 

"Let us know when you're leaving," Spike told her before she pushed into the crowd. 

Buffy watched, a smile playing on her lips, as the willowy brunette rejoined her friends. Dawn seemed perfectly okay in light of her sister's death a year ago. Buffy was glad to see Dawn had taken her final words to heart: to live. 

"Dawn's a pretty girl, isn't she?" Spike said. 

Buffy turned and frowned at him. Spike better not have a thing for Dawnie, she thought, before replying, "Yes, she is." 

"She's also 16," Spike said bluntly, staring hard at her. 

Buffy was immediately relieved. It was Big Brother Spike, not Jealous Boyfriendly Spike. A shift in her gaze caught Xander giving her the same evil eye. She suddenly felt a gush of emotion for the two men, and tears pricked her vision. Hopefully, her glasses and the dim lighting of the Bronze would hide her watery eyes. 

"She reminds me of my sister," Buffy said, which wasn't actually a lie. Dawn was her sister, however, she wasn't Brett's. 

"That's good to hear," Xander said. He clapped his hand on Spike's shoulder. "Odie and I are gonna shoot some pool. Want to play?" 

Buffy gigg-- chuckled manfully at Spike's new nickname. "I'd love to," she agreed. If she was going to break her self-imposed 'avoid her old friends' rule, she might as well do it right and go all the way. 

She stood. Spike stood. Buffy stifled a laugh as she found herself towering over the vampire. Spike was short! She never realized how not-tall he was, considering she barely topped five-two when she still had breasts. Xander was standing behind Spike, and Buffy could see the brunette's eyes clearly over the top of Spike's head. 

She pivoted on her heels so her back was to the midget vampire, freeing her to grin wildly. She would bet Dawn was now taller than Spike, too. Heh, heh, heh. 

Buffy made her way to the billiard's tables, half-full Diet Coke in her hand. A game was just ending, and she, Xander, and Shortstack chose pool cues. They decided on a multi-player game where you hit the balls into the pockets in numerical order, save for the eight-ball which still was shot last. At least, that's what Buffy understood the game to be. She'd played billiards a total of two times in her life, if she counted using the pool cue as a weapon. 

The Little Vampire -- manly chuckle -- shed his duster then went to get a couple beers. Xander broke, the multicolored billiard balls clicking and scattering across the surface of the red felt pool table. Buffy watched as three balls dropped into three separate pockets. Xander proceeded to knock in three more balls before he missed. 

"Next," he said with a friendly smile. 

Buffy set aside her drink, wiped her hands on her jeans, and pretended to know what she was doing. She wrapped her fingers around the cue stick like they did in the movies, eyed the white cute ball in relation to the striped one she was supposed to hit into a pocket, and let her rip. 

The cue stick burned her fingers. 

The tip scraped the surface of the pool table. 

The white cue ball didn't move an inch. She'd missed entirely. 

Face burning with humiliation, Buffy scurried to where she'd left her drink, gulped it down, and pressed the semi-cool glass to her hot cheek. She hated not being good at something. She couldn't play the cute-blond ditz either and save face. She wasn't blond anymore. 

Spike returned, passed Xander one of the two beers in his hand, and took his turn. He sank two balls, then missed. 

Xander sank one, then missed. 

It was Buffy's turn again. She concentrated hard, doing everything she could to mimic the Paul Newman movie The Color of Money. Her pool cue made a horrid sound as it scraped along the felt. The cue ball actually moved this time, an entire inch. 

"Here, try this." Buffy was beyond surprised when Spike moved close and adjusted her bridge hand. "Your knuckles make an automatic notch," he told her, setting the cue stick on top of her hand. "Try now." 

Buffy's brow furrowed, but she tried again. The pool cue slid much easier, and she hit the cue ball with a solid thwack. It sailed across the table, bounced off the rail, and returned almost all the way to her. 

"Next time, aim at one of the colored balls," Spike said in a conspiratorial whisper. "Now, shove over. It's my go." 

Buffy was amazed, and not because she'd actually hit the cue ball. Spike was being friendly. Nice, even. It was weird. Spike had never been nice to her before... well, that wasn't entirely true. After the Buffybot debacle, Spike had been a toad-prince among toads. Still, Spike was being friendly to a "stranger," and it wigged her. 

Buffy finished the game in a wary, watchful manner, paying close attention to Spike's behavior. He said, "Move, please," if someone was in his way. He and Xander bickered like comfortable friends. He continued to be friendly with her, too. She noticed they both looked over in Dawn's direction often, keeping an unobtrusive eye on her. Buffy also noted that Spike got plenty of attention from "concerned" girls with his healing cut and that silly band-aid on his nose. He flirted with them briefly, then sent them on their way. For some reason, the flirting annoyed Buffy the most out of all of Spike's odd behavior. 

She was quite pleased with her own flirting, however. Near the end of the game, the cute guy she'd been playing smile-exchange with earlier came over to say hello. His name was John. He was even cuter up close. 

"Want to play?" Buffy asked with a nod to the pool table after the first game was finished. She smiled her ditzy blond girl smile. "I have to warn you, though, I put the b-a-d in bad." 

The smile must still hold power even though she was no longer a girl, because John agreed instantly. 

"Table's all yours," Xander said, passing his pool cue to John. "Spike and I have to go, anyway. Dawn looks ready to leave and we have to pa-- work. We have work to do." 

Buffy caught the slip. They were going to patrol. Guilt slammed into her. She was the one who should be patrolling, not shooting pool with a hottie. It was her job, not Xander's. It wasn't Spike's job, either, but she knew he could take care of himself and it was a way for him to vent his vampiric lust for violence. 

Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, was dead, a snarky little voice taunted Buffy in the back of her mind. She was Brett now, with no responsibility or duty to fight evil and protect the world. She had no Slayer strength or skill. She was normal. She was... like Xander, only taller. And that revelation did nothing to alleviate her guilt. 

Buffy turned to John, an apologetic expression on her face. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. I'm, uh, expecting a call in... soon. Maybe another time." 

John gave her a sad smile. "Maybe another time." 

Buffy handed him her cue stick, sort-of waved, and went after Spike and Xander. 

 

Part Five 

 

 

Buffy tugged at her hair in frustration. "Math sucks," she snarled. She received several shushes from the other students seated at the table with her at the University library. "Well, it does," she grumbled, sinking lower in her hard wooden chair. Even with Mick's patient help earlier that evening, she still had no clue what she was doing. "Math is supposed to have numbers, not letters." 

More shushing from the other students. Buffy wanted to tell them where they could shove their shushes, and decided she'd been doing homework for too long. Shove their shushes? 

Perhaps another workout would clear her math-addled brain, Buffy thought as she gathered her books. On Friday after luckily failing to catch up with Spike and Xander, Buffy realized that she would have been more of a hindrance than a help to them. While her brain had all the knowledge of how to fight, her new and gangly body caused her to fall on her ass more often than not. Her center of balance was different, and she overextended on her kicks. She could still throw a punch, but it lacked oomph. At best, she'd be able to surprise a vampire before it ate her. 

Buffy hooked her backpack over her shoulder, stood, and was surprised herself by a vampire leaning casually against the Return counter. What was Spike doing at the University library? There was no way he could be looking for something to read... could he? 

Spike noticed her staring, and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Buffy took that as a sign to go over and ask him what a vampire like him was doing in a library like this. She could probably pull off the Bogart imitation with her deep Brett-voice. Too bad she wasn't supposed to know Spike was a vampire, or that his presence was odd. She'd have to gather information subtly, which meant she could still imitate Bogart's Sam Spade. It also meant she shouldn't have watched the A&E Bogart marathon last night. 

"Hi, Spike," Buffy greeted without hesitation as she joined the peroxide blond. She noted that his cut was completely healed. No more Odie band-aid. Darn. She stifled the urge to snicker, both at the memory of that band-aid and at having to look down at him. 

"Brett, yeah?" Spike said tentatively. At Buffy's nod, he relaxed and glanced around. "You haven't seen Dawn, have you?" 

"Uh, no," Buffy replied, worry stirring in her stomach. Her hand clutched the strap of her backpack. "Should she be here?" 

Spike tipped his head almost to his shoulder to read the watch on Buffy's wrist. "Anytime now." 

Buffy frowned in confusion. If Dawn was just arriving at the library, why was Spike there? "Are you here to help her with a report?" she voiced her question. 

Spike smirked. "If the report is on clubbing, then yes." 

"Clubbing?" Buffy said in disbelief, easily catching on to what Spike meant. "On a Sunday night?" 

"There's a boy involved," Spike confided. He added, in not-so-subtle warning, "A boy who's the proper age for Dawn." 

Buffy was really getting annoyed by the inferences that she was after Dawn. She decided, then and there, to put a kibosh on it. "I'm gay, all right? So stop with the hints. And it's a school night. Willow is letting Dawn go on a date on a school night?" 

Spike's brow shot up. "Why do you care if Dawn goes out?" 

"I told you Friday, she reminds me of my sister," Buffy repeated her semi-lie. "And I know I wouldn't let my sister go out on a date on a school night." 

Spike sighed. "I don't want her to go either," he said, "but if I don't take her, she'll sneak off on her own. This way, at least I can keep my eye on her." He straightened suddenly. "Here she is. Mum's the word, eh?" 

Hell, no. Buffy wasn't about to let Spike take Dawn anywhere, as chaperone or otherwise. Dawn shouldn't be allowed to get away with lying to Willow and Tara about her whereabouts and sneaking off to be with a boy at some unknown club on a school night. A quick call to Willow would put a halt to this nonsense. As for Spike... 

"I can't believe you're helping her get away with this," Buffy fumed, glaring down at him. She took a step closer, invading his space, hoping to intimidate him by her size. "You should be taking her straight home and she should be grounded." 

Spike wasn't impressed by her towering height. Then again, he'd never been all that impressed by her, even when she could beat him up without breaking a nail. "Doesn't work like that." 

Dawn bounced up beside them, carrying her backpack and smiling madly. "Hi, guys!" 

"Sweet Bit," Spike said, eyes still on Buffy's. "You ready?" 

"Yep," Dawn said with bubbly enthusiasm. "Willow said I had to be home by eleven o'clock." 

"Then we'd best head out." 

"Brett, are you coming, too?" Dawn asked, suddenly all innocent-looking. "You can keep Spike company." 

Buffy jumped at the offer. She couldn't force Spike to take Dawn home, but she could make sure Dawn behaved. "I'd be happy to come, too." 

Spike rolled his eyes. "Fine. Let's bolt." He sidestepped Buffy and started for the exit. 

Dawn grinned, bounced, and hurried after him, leaving Buffy having to hustle if she didn't want to be left behind. 

And she definitely wasn't going to be left behind. 

***** 

Slivers was the Bronze of Carbondale, a twenty minute drive from Sunnydale... at 90 miles per hour. Buffy couldn't fathom how Dawn had expected to get to the club if Spike hadn't driven her, even if he did drive like a bat out of hell, pardon her bad vampire joke. Fear churned in Buffy's stomach as scenario after scenario played through her mind of what could've happened to Dawn had she run off on her own. Perhaps Spike had been the lesser of evils in this case. Which, when she thought about it, sounded really funny. 

The boy Dawn had come to the club to see was very nice looking and, in Buffy's opinion, a good catch... if it wasn't her sister out on the dance floor with him, moving wantonly to the popular music blasting from the speakers set high on the walls. There weren't too many kids at the club, which might have something to do with it being a school night, Buffy thought dryly, sitting at a tall table with Spike, drinking soda and watching Dawn. 

Buffy didn't like the situation -- Dawn should be at home -- but she was very impressed with Spike. The trust she'd given him during the Glory debacle was not misplaced. He watched Dawn like a hawk without smothering her. Unobtrusive protection. 

What Buffy couldn't figure out, though, was why. Why was Spike still playing Big Brother to Dawn? It wasn't to earn points with Buffy, since she was "dead." The vampire had a no-stakage guarantee as long as he was chipped, even if he didn't help. It couldn't be for fun; Buffy knew for a fact that Spike's idea of fun involved spilling bodily fluids, whether other demons' or his own. 

Another Spike conundrum Buffy was puzzling over was his behavior towards her. Or rather, Brett. Spike didn't know Brett Anderson from Adam... though he did know an Adam, so maybe that was a bad saying. Still, Spike didn't know her. Him. Warning: identity crises on the loose. 

In "reality," the peroxide blond had just met Brett on Friday, shot a single game of billiards with him, then left. There was nothing to indicate that the vampire perhaps knew Brett was really Buffy. Spike was simply more friendly towards Brett than he was to others. It was bizarre. Spike was bizarre. He was sarcastic, slightly rude, and a little disgusting, but he was also chatty, good-humored, and quite animated when rambling on about some war series he'd recently seen on cable. It was if he was relaxed. The desperation that had seemed to hover over him was gone. Also gone was the need to prove himself to Buffy. Right now, he was... just Spike, without the malicious aforethought. 

And surprisingly, Buffy was enjoying herself with him. Repeat: it was bizarre. But so was the fact that she had things in common with him. Not Brett, not the role she was playing, it was Buffy herself that had things in common with Spike. Spike. They both liked hour-long dramas over half-hour comedies on television. They both liked comedies at the movies, but neither of them could stand the fakeness of action or horror. They both were of the opinion that all music should be played loud or not at all. Winter nights in front of a fire over summer nights at the beach. Cats over dogs. Plain vanilla over chocolate. 

The last one was the wiggiest commonality, and shut Buffy up for awhile. She shouldn't have anything in common with Spike at all, let alone something so odd. Rarely anyone preferred plain vanilla over chocolate unless hot fudge was involved. 

Buffy sipped her Diet Sprite. She wondered briefly if her straw sucking was too feminine, and shifted the straw to the side of her mouth like she'd seen Xander do. Across from her, Spike licked salt from his fingertips, an order of spicy fries sitting on the table in front of him. 

Spike and his food, Buffy thought amusedly. She had no idea if it was normal or not for a vampire to like to eat. They didn't seem too fond of the stake she offered them, but that was probably because it was made of wood and not tender beef. 

Buffy wouldn't be offering a punny-meal to a vampire anytime in the near future, though, unless she was the main course. Slayer-Buffy was gone. In her place was Buffyboy and her Amazing Penis. 

Watching Spike from beneath her lashes, Buffy wondered how Spike would react if she told him who she was. Would he be happy? Freaked? Scared? Think she was nuts? Would he grab Dawn and run? Would he grab Buffy and hug her? 

Would he still love her? 

Buffy almost choked on her soda. That last thought flew out of nowhere and slapped her on her stubbly cheek. Buffy didn't want Spike to love her. It was bad and wrong and a very large no-no. Spike was a vampire. She didn't do vampires. Been there, done that, had the dead teacher to prove it. 

That annoying little voice in the back of her mind snorted. Don't flatter yourself, it taunted. Did she really think Spike would be pining away for her? He probably had a new girl already... and why did Buffy care? Good for Spike, if he did have someone. And the jealousy she felt was because he had a relationship and she was alone, so there. 

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Buffy asked over the hysterical laughter from that stupid little voice in the back of her mind. He was going to say yes, and she was going to be super-ducky with it. She folded her hands around her glass and looked expectantly at him-- 

\--and saw pain. Raw, heart-ripping pain reflected in his eyes and face, which stabbed Buffy in the gut with its intensity. The emotion was gone in a flash, and Spike's expression was set in a blank mask, making Buffy wonder if she'd imagined what she'd seen. The ache in her abdomen proved differently. 

"No, I don't," Spike answered succinctly, and turned his attention in Dawn's direction. "Dawn's the only woman in my life, and that's how I want it. So if you're thinking of setting me up with someone, forget it." 

"I was just asking," Buffy said defensively. 

"And you've been answered." 

 

***** 

 

Spike took a long sip of his beer, keeping his focus on Dawn and her date. His eyes narrowed when he saw where exactly said date's hands were, but before he could move Dawn took care of the wandering limbs on her own. Good girl. 

Brett shifted uncomfortably on the stool across the table from Spike, a red flush tinting his ears. The vampire pressed his lips together in a thin line. Women were a very sore subject with Spike and he got short-tempered when dateable females became the topic of discussion. However, he actually felt bad for snapping at Brett, which was odd. Then again, everything about the night so far had been odd. 

Spike gave Brett a sidelong glance. The vampire couldn't figure out what it was about Brett Anderson that piqued his interest and caused him to blabber on like Willow on caffeine. The brunette was a tall, neatly groomed, square-jawed Joe College-type, with a pair of specs that magnified his deep whiskey-colored eyes. The old scar cutting across his cheek Spike identified as made by a knife, and he could see a few other scars that could only come from fist-fights, proving there was a bit of rough-and-tumble to the clean-cut young man. He was pleasantly deep voiced, too. His way of speaking and mannerisms were a tad girlish, but that was to be expected since he was a shirtlifter. 

Spike wasn't looking for any type of emotional entanglement, or sex, so his interest in Brett couldn't be attraction. Still, he found himself drawn into conversation with Brett as if he was looking to make friends. 

Spike did not need or want a friend. He had Dawn to take care of, the Harrises to take care of him, and the witches to avoid lest he get mothered to death. Xander and Anya only cared if Spike was well enough to protect Dawn. Willow and Tara cared about Spike's well-being and it had gone quite far beyond the point of annoyance. He could only take hearing "how are you doing?" so many times before he wanted to tie the witches' tongues around their heads. 

The answer was always the same, anyway. How was he doing? He was still walking and talking, wasn't he? And it seemed that today he was making a new friend, if he hadn't bollixed it up. He should get a biscuit. 

"Listen, mate," Spike said with a put-upon sigh. "I'm not interested in the ladies, but since you aren't one, it doesn't matter, eh?" 

Brett nodded slowly. His dark brows furrowed above the rims of his gold frames. "Wait, does that mean you're interested in guys now?" 

"Hoping for a date, are you?" Spike said with a smug smirk. 

Brett immediately looked horrified, and Spike's puffed-up ego deflated rapidly. He changed the subject quickly. "Never mind. What time is it?" the vampire asked. 

"Ten-forty," Brett replied with a glance at his watch. 

"I'd best round up Dawn." Spike took a final sip of his beer, set the bottle aside, and stood. "Wait here," he told Brett before winding through the tables towards the dance floor. 

Spike stepped up behind Dawn, eyed where her date's hands rested on her hips, and cleared his throat loudly. Dawn looked over her shoulder, and groaned unhappily. "Time to go already?" 

"Your pumpkin awaits," Spike said, shooting a glare at Dawn's fellow. "Say goodnight, and let's go." 

"Goodnight, Tim," Dawn parroted dutifully. Then, she kissed Tim with blatant use of tongue. 

Spike growled low in his throat, knowing the little bint was doing it to raise his hackles. The devious smile she gave Spike confirmed it, when she stopped licking her date's tonsils. 

"Call me," Dawn chirped to Tim as Spike latched onto her arm and dragged her from the dance floor. 

Spike collected Brett, and the three of them exited Slivers. They piled into the black Trans-Am that Spike had 'acquired', and sped back to Sunnydale, hard rock music rattling the car's windows. 

He dropped off Dawn first, reminding her to take her backpack. He normally chauffeured her home from the library when she really was studying, so Willow and Tara would once again be duped. He waited until Dawn was safely indoors before continuing on to the University. 

"This is me," Brett said, gesturing out the passenger window to the brick four-storey dormitory. "Hendrix Hall, room 305. Home, smelly home." 

"Don't forget your bag, either," Spike said after turning down the car stereo. He smirked. "I know I don't plan on doing your Maths course work. I barely passed the first time round." 

Brett studied Spike intently for a moment, then nodded as if coming to a conclusion. "You're a good Dawn-sitter," he said. "I don't agree that she should've gone out on a school night, but I'd rather you'd be watching out for her than her sneaking off on her own." 

Spike quirked a brow. "Glad you approve," he said with slight sarcasm. 

"Right. I'm Brett. I'm not related to Dawn," Brett commented mysteriously. He opened the car door, started to get out, and paused. "Take care of her, okay? She's really like my sister and..." Brett didn't finish his thought. He instead gave Spike a wavery half-smile and climbed out of the car. 

Spike watched as Brett's long strides ate up the pavement until he disappeared inside the dorm. Frowning at the sudden feeling of loss, Spike put the car in gear and headed home. 

 

Epilogue 

 

"Spike, uh, hi," Brett said upon opening the dorm room door. "What are you doing here?" 

It was a good question. One Spike didn't know the answer to, and so he lied. "I was in the neighborhood, visiting someone else, and I thought I'd say 'hello.'" 

By the skeptical expression on Brett's face, Spike's lie was as lame as it sounded, but he truly didn't have a reason for seeking out Brett. Spike didn't like humans, except for a select few, and he wasn't that hard up (though he hadn't gotten laid in more months than he had fingers.) 

There was something about Brett, though, that had caught Spike's interest. Something that tickled low in his belly. It wasn't Brett's looks. Granted, he wasn't ugly by any means. He was long, lanky, square-jawed, and had perceptive eyes hidden behind thin frame glasses. Perceptive eyes that were assessing Spike in a way that made it clear he thought Spike was a nutter, which he was, most likely. Still, it wasn't Brett's looks that had Spike walking to UCSunnydale a few days after they'd met; it was just a feeling he had that he wanted to know Brett Anderson. 

Spike tucked the tops of his hands in his jeans pockets and rocked on his heels. He gave Brett a small smile. "Fancy a beer, mate?" 

 

The Beginning


End file.
